Page 35 of Finding Home

She’d spent her entire career learning to read the space between what people said and what they were carrying. She recognized it in Cole’s silence. She’d seen it before, in rooms where people decided whether to keep going or stop.

Cole held the passenger door open for her.

She got in and said nothing, and told herself it was only the cold air making it hard to breathe.

Chapter 22

The highway unrolled ahead of Cole, straight and empty in the morning light.

He kept both hands on the wheel and let the silence sit. Julie was watching the mountains. Noah had his shoulder against the passenger window, turning his phone over in his hands. Nobody had said much since they’d left the county offices, and that was fine. There was nothing useful left to say.

He’d known going in that the review period wouldn’t shorten. Sixty days was sixty days. What he hadn’t anticipated was the insurance assessor’s reaction. He’d used words to describe their security protocol that meant everything and committed to nothing.

Cole thought about what that could mean as he drove.

Jensen’s call was at two. He’d handle that. Madeline was already working on the permit timeline, looking for any angle that could help them. Noah would have the security rotation changed before nightfall. There were steps to take, and Cole knew how to take them.

What he couldn’t account for was the pain in his chest last night and again this morning, as they’d driven to the county offices. It was the same slow dense pressure that he’d felt for months and done nothing about.

He shouldn’t have deleted his appointment with his cardiologist.

Cole’s hand came off the wheel. His palm moved to his chest before he realized what he was doing. He pressed firmly, hoping to relieve the pressure building in his heart. His shoulders pulled together as the pain intensified.

Julie looked across the cab at him. “Are you all right, Cole?”

He winced but nodded. “I’ll be okay.”

“You should pull over,” Noah said from the back seat.

Cole was already easing off the gas. “I’m fine.”

“Pull over,” Noah said again, except this time he wasn’t asking Cole, he was telling him.

Cole brought the truck onto the shoulder and put it in park. He kept his eyes on the road and his hand where it was. Flathead Lake lay somewhere behind the tree line to his left. He could feel it in the air.

Behind him, Noah was already on his phone.

Julie placed her hand on Cole’s arm. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“Pressure,” Cole said. “Just pressure. It happens when I⁠—”

“The paramedics are forty minutes out,” Noah said. “It’ll be quicker to drive back to Polson. Cole, I need you to move to the back seat. If you can sit beside Cole, Julie, the dispatcher will talk you through what she needs to know.”

Cole started to say something.

“Don’t argue with me,” Noah said as he opened his door.

Julie got out on her side. Noah came around and helped Cole into the back seat.

Without saying anything, Noah handed Julie his phone, got behind the wheel, and pulled back onto the highway.

Julie put the phone to her ear and spoke briefly to the dispatcher, then listened, her eyes on Cole.

With her free hand, she reached across and rested her fingers lightly on his wrist. Not gripping. Just there. “How long has this been happening?” she asked.

“On and off for a few months.” Cole exhaled. “I had a heart attack six years ago, and it doesn’t feel like that.”

Julie held his gaze, and whatever she saw in his face, she didn’t argue with it. She spoke into the phone again, then listened.